


Move along, nothing to see here

by Khalehla



Series: Requests [4]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Confederations Cup, German National Team, Heart-to-Heart, International Break, M/M, Rivals, but not enemies either, not quite friends, supportive rivals, they get each other okay?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 06:19:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11269731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khalehla/pseuds/Khalehla
Summary: They’re not exactly friends, but they understand each other better than anyone else. Sometimes, that’s enough.Bernd and Marc-André have an unexpected heart-to-heart





	Move along, nothing to see here

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eruditemonk (agent_declan)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_declan/gifts), [meggiewrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meggiewrites/gifts).



> For **eruditemonk** who requested a Bernd comfort!fic after the Confed Cup game against Australia (poor bebe), and **meggiewrites** because not only did she give me the core idea for the fic, but she also very kindly let me use her gorgeous art (originally posted [here.](http://meggiesobsessions.tumblr.com/post/154469516575/dont-we-all-love-a-story-like-this-thanks-to))

Bernd breathes deeply for ten counts before opening his eyes, hoping that he’s wrong. But the universe seems to hate him a lot recently, because yep, that actually is Marc-André standing just outside the penalty box, calmly eating from an ice-cream tub.  
  
Bernd takes another ten deep breaths. He’d come outside to vent in privacy, and the last thing he needed was his rival seeing him punching the goal posts while have an epic meltdown over the reviews he got after the Australia game. No-one was supposed to witness this, and he’s really peeved that Marc seems to think it’s okay for him to be here.  
  
“What are you doing here?” he asks through clenched teeth.  
  
“I saw Leon sneak out earlier and I thought you were him.”  
  
“Why would you care about Leon sneaking out? Are you stalking him? That’s disturbing.” Seriously, Marc was so weird sometimes.  
  
Marc casually strolls closer. “Nope. I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t gonna try and prank us again tomorrow.”  
  
Bernd can’t help but groan; the prank wars were starting already and they were as competitive as ever. Still, Marc could have just left as soon as he realised that he wasn’t Leon.

“Well I’m not Leon and you can go back inside now,” he says, trying to get Marc to leave.

The other keeper doesn’t get the hint, just continues to eat his ice-cream. “Not sure if anyone told you, but punching the goal post even when you’re wearing gloves still hurts like hell.”

“Thanks for the unwanted advice, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone.”

“Is this about the Australia game?”

Bernd grinds his teeth. “You wouldn’t understand.”  
  
“I hate to shatter your illusions, but you’re not that special, you know.”  
  
Bernd glares, because what an asshole. He’s about to tell Marc to not-so-politely fuck off when the other keeper sighs heavily.  
  
“Do you seriously think you’re the only one who’s ever been hated on like that? All of us have - maybe get used to the fact that you’re not everyone’s favourite because you know what? That’s the reality.”  
  
“Says the guy who plays for the mighty Barça-fucking-lona,” Bernd snarks bitterly, ripping his gloves off.  
  
“Don’t be even more of an idiot than you already are,” Marc-André snaps. “You don’t get to use that against me when you have no idea what it’s like to play there, how hard it is to constantly have to prove yourself even when you’ve been there for years now. Until you have to apologise to your own club fans every couple of months for every fuck up you make, you have to stay in your own little bubble and stop whining about the fact that not everyone thinks you’re perfect.”  
  
Bernd gapes at him, truly surprised that Marc actually looks hurt. “I don’t expect everyone to think I’m perfect!”  
  
“And yet here you are, crying over some bad reviews.”  
  
“Oh fuck off, ter Stegen,” Bernd hisses, turning his back on his rival. “Do me a favour and go be a heartless dick somewhere else.”  
  
“I’m not being heartless,” Marc objects. “I’m being realistic.”

“Well then go be realistic somewhere else. I don’t need your sanctimonious bullshit right now.”

“Don’t be naive,” Marc snaps again. “You know I’m right and you’re just overreacting.”

“I’m right about you being a heartless dick,” Bernd spits back at the other keeper, genuinely getting angry now. “I thought we were supposed to all grown up and shit - but you’re enjoying giving me grief over this, aren’t you?”

“Fuck’s sake Leno, can you stop assuming that I’m trying to make you feel worse and just listen?” Marc demands. “I’m trying to help!”

“You haven’t said anything helpful!” Bernd counters.

“That’s because you’re not listening, you daft idiot!” Marc repeats, voice also rising. “So shut up for a moment and pay attention to what I’m actually saying, because I’m not gonna repeat myself if you’re too thick to get it.”

Bernd crosses his arms and sneers at the other keeper. “Go on, then.”

Marc-André takes an exaggerated breath, and to Bernd’s surprise, hands over the tub of ice-cream. Bernd frowns at him.

“I get it, okay?” the Barcelona keeper says, voice gentle and low. “I get what it’s like to fuck up in front of everyone then have to apologise for it. I get what it’s like to feel like everyone else gets a free pass on a bad day but you make one mistake and the whole world feels the need to remind you over and over again as if you didn’t already know. I get what it’s like to listen to everyone tell you “and that’s the reason why you’re not Manuel Neuer” after all those fuck ups.”

Marc-André air quotes that last part and Bernd snorts, trying to hide his amusement by digging into the ice-cream that the other keeper had shoved in his hands (it’s delicious). Marc smiles at him, and Bernd is surprised at how (and God help him, Bernd can’t believe he’s going to admit this) _soft_ Marc is when he’s like this.

“I think out of everyone, not even Kevin gets what it’s like trying to be the next Manu and how much pressure the expectations actually are,” Marc continues, watching him almost fondly now. “So if you want to punch a wall - or a goal post - then go for it. It’s not a weakness and I’m not judging you for it. Take it from me, it’s better to get it out of your system because the last thing you want is being terrified of making another mistake when the stakes get higher.”

Bernd’s not really quite sure if Marc expects an answer out of him, and although he can’t really trust yet that Marc’s motive for his little talk is completely altruistic, Bernd can at least admit that Marc knows what he’s talking about. As much as Bernd hates the constant comparisons to Manuel, Bernd knows that Marc gets it much worse.

“I’m not a child,” Bernd eventually says. “I know how to move on and not let it affect the next game.”

“I know,” Marc nods, “but you don’t need to let it keep getting to you when you’re off the pitch, too.”

“It’s not-”

“Yes it is,” Marc cuts him off. “And that’s natural and it sucks, but don’t let it go for too long because seriously? It’s never as bad as they make it out to be. You’re still _here_ , aren’t you? Even after Leverkusen’s poor season, Andi and Jogi still chose you. That means you’ve gotta be doing something right.”  
  
And _fuck_ , did Bernd need to hear that. He only wishes it was someone else rather his biggest rival telling him, but it’s exactly the right thing that finally cut through the doubt that’s been plaguing him since they got back from the game.

“Thanks,” Bernd mumbles, finally getting it.  
  
“Don’t mention it,” the other keeper says, then grimaces. “I mean that literally. Don’t mention it; ever. Let’s just forget that we ever had this conversation, okay?”  
  
Bernd rolls his eyes because that was such a typical Marc thing to say. “Sure thing, your highness.”

“You don’t want people to think we’re actually getting along, do you?” Marc grins. “They might get the wrong impression if you go around telling them that we’re having heart to hearts.”

Bernd can’t help himself, he punches Marc in the sternum. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough that the other keeper gasps at the pressure. “You’re such an asshole; how did you manage to fool everyone into thinking that you’re sweet and caring?”

Marc rubs at his chest, then punches Bernd in the arm. “I _am_ sweet,” Marc objects, swiping his ice-cream out of Bernd’s hands and scowling when he sees how much Bernd’s eaten. “You just wouldn’t know what encouragement looked like if it danced up to you and bit you in the ass.”

“That’s your definition of encouragement?” Bernd asks, rolling his eyes again. “Pal, someone needs to buy you a dictionary because you’re not even in the same province, let alone anywhere near being encouraging. I’m pretty sure you called me an idiot at least three times in your little pep talk.”

Marc grins at him so widely that his fangs are showing, and Bernd wants to punch him again, this time in the face. Marc must realise this, because he gets a calculating look on his face and Bernd’s eyes go wide. “Don’t!” Bernd warns, stepping back. “I _swear_ , ter Stegen, if you try and hug me, I will kick you in the balls!”

Marc gives him a “are you fucking kidding me?” look, then suddenly lunges at him, knocking Bernd on his ass and landing heavily on him.

Bernd lets out an _oof_  when he lands on the soft grass, and is about to actually knee the other keeper in the groin, when - Jesus Christ on bicycle! - Marc-André grabs his face with the hand that isn’t holding the ice-cream and kisses him on the cheek. Bernd’s so shocked that he freezes, giving Marc enough time to roll off and move away so that Bernd can’t kick him. Marc is laughing so hard that he’s practically choking. Bernd picks himself up off the ground, and stalks to where he’d dropped his gloves, then proceeds to throw them at his still guffawing rival.

“Ow!” Marc complains when the first glove hits him on the head.

“You are such a dick!” Bernd throws the other glove and grunts when Marc manages to duck it.

“You should have seen your face!” Marc giggles. “That was so worth it!”

“I hate you so much,” Bernd mutters as he collects his gloves again.

“At least you’re not moping anymore,” Marc points out with a shit eating grin, making Bernd itch to really punch him this time.

Rather than acknowledge how true that is, Bernd gives him the middle finger, then makes his way back to the hotel, Marc trailing behind him. It’s a surprisingly comfortable silence as they reach the foyer and go their separate ways, Bernd nodding when Marc waves nonchalantly at him.

He bumps into Julian Brandt when he gets out of the lift on his floor.

“I’ve been looking for you; you disappeared after dinner,” Julian says.

“I went for a walk. I needed to get some air.”

“You don't look so stressed anymore,” Julian nods, slowly looking him up and down. “You're much more relaxed, care to share why?”

Bernd thinks about whether he should actually reply or not, but then settles for saying, “I punched Marc in the gut.”

Julian gapes at him. “What?” the younger boy asks stupidly.

“You heard me.”

“You _didn't_.”

“What? He punched me back anyway, so we’re even.”

Julian pinches the bridge of his nose. “Bernd. For fuck’s sake. What is _wrong_ with you two? Do you want to get kicked off the team? You better hope coach doesn’t find out or Marc tells someone.”

Bernd shrugs, knowing that Marc-André would rather die than breathe a word over their not-quite-a-bonding moment. There wasn't really anything he could say without telling Julian what actually happened (which, you know, was _nothing_ , because Nothing Happened) so he just pulls his room card out of his pocket and waves it. “I need to get some sleep, I’ll see you at breakfast.”

He can almost feel Julian frowning at his back but Bernd ignores his teammate and heads to his room. Bernd knows Julian is right, that he’s not as stressed or upset as he was earlier, and as much as he hated to admit it, Marc had a lot to do with it. His rival was one of the few people in the world who could relate to how hurt he was and how frustrating their job could be, and even though they weren’t exactly friends, it was still something of a relief knowing that there was someone out there who understood him in moments like this. And sometimes, that was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> \--  
> I have a [tumblr account ](https://khalehla.tumblr.com) for my writings and random ficlets. If you have a question about this or any of my other stories, come say hi :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I write **fiction** about real people. As far as I know, none of these events ever happened; any resemblance to any actual events are purely coincidental.


End file.
